“Please, Sir, we like to keep our grass alive. Stay on the road if you can,” called the passing local from his car. A tourist had stepped onto a meadow, above the tiny Faroese village of Boeur, to capture the perfect shot of the jagged sea stacks beyond.
The tourist hopped back onto the road and the meadow was spared. The local waved, smiled, and drove on. Life continued. It was a moment that would encapsulate our five days in the Faroe Islands. The archipelago, adrift between Iceland, Norway and Scotland, seemed so remote that visiting it was like stumbling upon an ancient secret.
